The Patrician

by Joan Kayse

  “I thank you for your time, Master Hapu.” Jared and Damon stood together.

  In a few moments they were outside the house, Hapu’s laughter ringing in their ears.

  “If the thief was looking for an idiot to help with his plan, he did a good job picking our good friend Hapu.” Damon rubbed the back of his neck. “Not much information save the mystery nomad. Do you remember insulting someone’s camel?”

  Jared rolled his eyes. “No, but Bryna described the man who enlisted Coeus’ help in my abduction as being dressed like a Bedouin.”

  Damon glanced back at the walled arena. “That Albion seemed an intelligent sort, too intelligent to be hanging around Hapu once his freedom had been gained. I think he knows more about what is going on than the Egyptian.” He looked thoughtful. “He’s a barbarian like Bryna. Perhaps she could talk to him.”

  “No,” Jared answered quickly. “It’s too dangerous.” He shifted under Damon’s scrutiny

  “Did you notice the color of his eyes?”

  Jared mounted his horse, avoiding Damon’s questioning gaze. “I’m sure there are plenty of barbarians with eyes that color. Let’s go find Coeus, and persuade the good proprietor to tell us what he knows.”

  Chapter Twenty Six

  “Mistress, I don’t believe we should be here.”

  Bryna patted Talus on the arm, an action that still made the butler very uneasy. “But you said you overheard Damon and Jared talking about a gladiator school.”

  Talus swallowed as though his throat were closing up. Bryna could almost pity the man. She’d discovered the butler hurrying from the library and his startled and guilty expression had convinced her something was amiss. With tactful prodding, Talus admitted having overheard Jared and Damon discussing progress in their search for his enemy. The moment he mentioned a gladiatorial school, Bryna’s heart had leapt and her connection to Bran had flared.

  “I did, mistress, but I did not intend that you should go there.” He glanced around nervously at the disreputable houses and ramshackle booths where half rotten food and other assorted inferior goods were being offered for sale by equally unsavory vendors.

  No, Bryna thought, he would not have expected her to want to investigate an Egyptian. But this Egyptian had bought barbarians for slaves. She tamped down the prick of guilt she felt at disobeying her husband. Jared would be furious when he found out that his wife had failed to follow orders. But his declaration of authority had cast her illusion into dust. Her chest ached. He did not love her.

  “Lovely fabric for a lovely lady,” crooned an old, shriveled merchant. Bryna cast a dubious look at the dirty blue linen he held out to her. “I’m sure your fabric is quite lovely, but could you direct us to Hapu’s Gladiator School?”

  “Hapu’s is no place for a woman,”

  Bryna’s heart stuttered. She whirled in the direction of the deep, accented voice, seeing only shadow. Then, one of the shadows moved. Beside her, Talus inhaled sharply. The merchant, his eyes wide, scrambled back behind his stall.

  Bryna’s feet would not move and the fading afternoon sun did not reach into the recesses created by the buildings. The shadow grew larger, looming as it moved in her direction. By increments, the dark shape began to take the form of a man. A man with the same green eyes as her own.

  “Oh!” Tears streaming down her cheeks, she hurtled herself into Bran’s embrace.

  “Release my mistress at once or...or I shall summon the authorities!” Talus demanded, shrinking back when a ferocious glare pierced him.

  “No! Talus. It is all right.” Bryna swiped at her tears, smiling up at the man who still held her protectively against him. “My search is over. This is Bran! This is my brother!”

  Talus’ face reflected his confusion. “But...but I do not understand, Mistress. I thought your brother—” His voice trembled as he scanned the intimidating man. “—was a gladiator?”

  Bran settled a fierce gaze on the butler and said in broken Greek. “I am not slave. I am free.”

  Talus broke into a cold sweat. “Oh, dear.”

  Bryna pulled away taking a silent inventory of her brother. The sharp angles of his face seemed more defined, harsher. His eyes, so like her own, always full of laughter, were hard, guarded, and cold. She reached up and touched a thick scar that ran around his neck. He flinched like a wounded animal.

  “Did I hurt you, brother?” she asked softly, speaking in their beloved Gaelic.

  He visibly relaxed. “I have become unaccustomed to touch.”

  Bryna pressed her lips together. Bran, her warrior brother who feared nothing, had changed. “You said you are free.”

  Bran scoffed. “As a gladiator, I won my freedom. The Romans enjoy the spectacle of killing.” Bran cupped her cheek in his hand. “The gods have finally heard my prayers. That I should find you, here on the street? It is destiny. We will go to my dwelling. It is not far from here. I have waited long for this day, Bryna. Now that I have found you, we can return home.”

  She clenched her fist against the pain in her breast. He had won his freedom and remained in this hated Roman world in hopes of finding her. Home. Yes, now that Bran was found, they could go home.

  Images of Eire’s verdant countryside warred with heated gold eyes, an arrogant smile and a tender heart. Bryna, her limbs feeling like lead turned to Talus. “I am going with my brother.”

  “Mistress, you cannot,” declared Talus. “What shall I tell the master?”

  She looked up at Bran. “Tell him I am going home.

  ***

  Not a word was spoken as Bran led Bryna away from the stunned servant. Her hand, so small within his callused one, was cold and damp. He could feel her trembling.

  Following the conversation between her and the servant had been difficult. Early in his captivity, he had decided not to learn the multitude of languages with which he was bombarded. He had learned what was needed to survive, but refused to pollute his mind with more. Master had been one of the few he understood.

  Was this master someone Bryna feared? He noted how her complexion had paled, her mouth flattened into a thin line. And were those tears he saw in her eyes? Bran clenched his jaw. He had failed miserably in protecting Bryna before. He would not do so again. If her master came to claim her, he would kill him. He nodded toward a wide alley. “There, the second entry.”

  She followed his direction, stopping in front of the small arched doorway of a square, two level mud brick house. Bran pounded on the door, wrapping his other arm protectively around Bryna. It wasn’t a grand palace, but it suited his needs. And it was his, bought and paid for and blessedly separate from the stench of death that permeated Hapu’s school.

  A small crack appeared at the door’s edge.

  “It is I. Open,” he commanded. The door swung wide.

  Bryna followed him into the dim light of the entryway. The weight of her decision to leave Jared without a backward glance, without explanation had left her numb. She peered into the shadows.

  “Menw?” Her breath caught in her throat as she stared at the slight man closing the door behind them. He turned startled blue eyes to her.

  “Bryna!” He looked at Bran. “You did not tell me you would be bringing your sister home.”

  Bran rolled his eyes. “Old man, I did not expect to find my sister wandering the streets of this vile city.”

  “How is it you are here?” asked Bryna, wrapping her arms around their clansman. She pulled away, her gaze freezing at the stump of his left arm.

  Bran explained. “Another slave accused Menw of theft. So his master punished him by removing the hand that had stolen.” Bran explained. “Three days later, the true offender was caught...and hung.”

  Menw nodded. “Indeed, he paid the higher price.”

  “And you lost your arm because you were a barbarian and so naturally a thief!” spat Bran.

  “Bitterness will not bring back my limb.” rebuked Menw. His words were soft but firm, causing Bran to scowl. B
ryna quirked her lips. The bard of her clan and her brother had always been known for their sparring. She drew solace in the familiarity of it. “I am sorry for your arm Menw, but I am glad you are here.”

  “I wouldn’t be if this great lout hadn’t tracked me down and purchased me.” Bran shifted uncomfortably under the look of gratitude Menw sent him “Come, I will prepare food.”

  Hand in hand they followed Menw into a square room, furnished simply with a long wooden table and two benches.

  Bran led her to one of the rough, wooden benches, then sat across from her. He’d not released her hand and Bryna was glad, though her heart seized as she studied the myriad of scars on his arms. Menw placed a platter of flat bread and cheese before them, followed by a skin of wine.

  “I never stopped believing you were alive,” Bryna said, rubbing the warm skin of Bran’s hand. Tears clogged her throat. “That day...” Her voice grew husky. “That day when we were sold, I thought to never see you again.”

  “Nor I you.” A dark shadow fell over his face. “Was it terrible for you sister?”

  Waves of crushing guilt swelled from him. “We both know the answer to that, Bran. We both carry the scars of our slavery.” She tilted her head to catch his downcast gaze. “Rest easy on one point. I was never abused—in that way—thanks to your tale about my sight.”

  Bran sighed heavily, looked relieved. “I wasn’t certain it would work. But those Roman bastards seemed a greedy, superstitious lot.” He eyed her speculatively. “So your visions came readily?”

  She thought about the ones she had had of Jared. “No, not always. But I was able to find a lost bauble or predict the fortunes of a dice player often enough.”

  Bran nodded, satisfied. He held her gaze, his voice turning to iron. “This man your servant called master, does he own you?”

  Only her heart and her soul. She shook her head, shifted her eyes down. “No, circumstances threw us together. He aided my escape from slavery.” She tried to smile but knew she’d failed by Bran’s glower and Menw’s expression. She waved their concerns away. “It is done.” Her look encompassed them both. “How bad?”

  Both men stared at the table. Menw spoke first. “I was bought by a man whose ego far exceeded his wealth. He owned only a handful of slaves, and those he worked until we could barely lift our heads.” His eyes misted. “I would have not lived much longer if Bran had not found me.”

  Her heart throbbed with the sorrow emanating from the bard. Reaching out, she squeezed his hand.

  Bran hesitated when it came his turn to speak, his eyes darkening. “There were times when I wished that I had died. After I saw you dragged away, I became like a madman.” He stared off into space, reliving the memories. “I was a madman. It took many blows from a Roman lash before I was subdued. Then it was like I was dead. My price dropped considerably and that—” A sneer curled his lips. “—is when the Egyptian bought me as a gladiator.”

  Bryna closed her eyes, tried to focus beyond the blackness that surrounded the word. “How many?” she asked.

  The two men exchanged puzzled looks. “How many?” repeated Bran.

  “How many men did you have to kill?”

  Disgust and anger filled Bran’s green eyes “I did not keep an accounting. Numbers mean little in the midst of slaughter.”

  “You are a warrior.”

  The planes of his face grew harsh. “A warrior fights for a cause. He fights with purpose, the defense of his land, the survival of his people,” His gaze slid away from her. “The protection of his family. There is no honor in murder.”

  Silence filled the tiny room. Menw rubbed moisture from his eyes while Bran sat with his dark head cradled in his hands. Bryna touched her brother’s arm. He jerked violently, pushing her away with such force that she nearly toppled from her seat. His eyes were filled with a wildness that reminded her of Cuini when she had been confined to the sack.

  Where was the brother she had known and adored? The man full of life, quick to laugh, with an easy smile that could charm the heat out of any argument.

  The devastation wracking his soul was palpable. It was there in the drum tight tension of every muscle, the granite set of his jaw, the deep lines and haunted cast of his eyes.

  Menw finally broke the silence. “The enemy has planted dark demons in Bran’s soul. It will take time to heal.”

  “It will never heal old man.” Bran poured another draught of wine downing it in one swallow. He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, looked at Bryna. “Only one thing kept me from putting an end to it all, letting them kill me with their unholy games—my vow to find you and return to Eire. Now we can.”

  But at what price? His soul? For so long she had wanted the same thing. But suddenly, the very thought filled her with anguish.

  In leaving this Roman world she would be leaving Jared. Could she really do it? Could she leave the man whose heart had become her own? Would Jared come for her, she wondered. Would he be angry? Saddened? Relieved? He was re-establishing himself as a prominent merchant. Having a barbarian wife would do nothing but hinder those efforts.

  Bryna met Bran’s hollow gaze. He had endured untold agonies as a slave, a gladiator, had fought and killed in order to survive and find her. She couldn’t abandon him to this darkness.

  Feeling hollow inside, she reached out, touched his arm. He did not pull away this time, though his muscle trembled beneath her fingers.

  “Yes, we can go home.”

  Chapter Twenty Seven

  “Gone?” Jared stared at Talus. What do you mean gone?”

  The butler went pale and his hands shook visibly. “Gone, master. The mistress met a man she called her brother and left with him. I tried to dissuade her but she was adamant.” Misery filled his eyes.

  Jared returned his attention to Talus, who had not moved since delivering the unwelcome news. “Just like that, you allowed her to leave?” Talus nodded sorrowfully.

  He should have been here. Damon and he had spent a fruitless afternoon attempting to locate Coeus only to find that the taverna owner had recently been found floating along the shores of Pharos. Now his servant brings him news that his wife has left. Jared turned from Talus to stare out the window. The view of the Mediterranean framed by arched stone normally took his breath away, eased his soul. Today it did neither.

  Bryna was gone.

  She had left him.

  He crossed his arms tightly over his chest, tried to stem the crushing pain in his heart. He had spent a lifetime filled with bitterness, had focused on the mistakes of the past, refusing to understand and accept the present. The future had held no hope for him.

  Until Bryna.

  Love. Yes, he was in love with the little barbarian witch. With his wife. Life before Bryna was vague, a wisp in his existence. Even in the middle of the degradation of slavery, she had touched him with her fiery spirit, her keen wit, her gentle soul. A mere touch of her slim fingers turned his blood into rivers of heat. There was no imagining life without her.

  “Master, I am a worthless cur I know, but the man, her brother, was enormous. There was no way I could challenge him.”

  Jared tightened his jaw. “Send word to Damon. We must start a search.”

  “I followed them,” Talus said meekly.

  “You what?”

  Talus drew himself to his full height. “I followed them to her brother’s house.”

  Jared strapped on his sword. “Take me there.”

  ***

  Talus did not say a word as he led Jared through the narrow streets. This part of Alexandria was well known as a haven for thieves and other cretins of ill repute. Jared knew it well enough, having spent many hours searching the quarter for clues about his missing merchandise. The shrill laughter of a harlot echoed in the dark.

  “This is it, master.” Talus stopped in front of a narrow wooden door. Jared could barely make out the outline of a two story dwelling.

  “Wait here,” he instructed Talus.
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br />   “But, master. He is huge and not unlike a wild beast. He is, after all, an uncivilized barbarian.” Talus dropped his gaze.

  “It does not matter, Talus. She is my wife. No one will stand in the way of that.” He nudged Talus aside, rapped sharply on the door.

  No one answered. Jared knocked again, this time more forcefully.

  The hinges creaked in protest as the door cracked open, revealing a pair of dark, brown eyes.

  “I have come for Bryna.”

  “You have the wrong house. I do not know of what you speak,” the voice squeaked.

  Jared was one breath quicker than the man and placed his foot in the opening, preventing it from being slammed shut.

  But before he could push his way in, the door was flung open and he stood face to face with the gladiator from Hapu’s school. He met Albion’s—Bran’s—stony gaze, calling himself a fool for denying the likeness. The same defiant green eyes that had glared at him so often now stared back at him. Standing at least four inches taller than himself, the gladiator spread his thickly muscled legs apart and crossed his brawny arms across his massive chest.

  Jared returned the formidable man’s assessing gaze. Albion was looking for weaknesses, just as he would for an opponent in the arena before going in for the kill. He mirrored the man’s stance. “I am here for Bryna,” he said.

  The man’s only response was a tick along his jaw.

  A lean man with only one arm stuck his head out from behind the gladiator. “My master does not understand.”

  Jared’s gaze did not waver. “Then you can translate for him, in whatever tongue suits him that I have come for Bryna.”

  The gladiator spoke in his barbarian tongue to the one armed man.

  “My master says that his sister is no longer a slave. She is under his protection. You must go, or die.”

  Jared grit his teeth. She had told her brother she was free but not that she was married. “She is not my slave. She is my wife.”

  A look of surprise flickered across the gladiator’s face, even before his servant translated. “Wife?” he grunted.